


Saanja the Clever

by RainySpringMorning



Series: The Legend of Saanja [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gay Male Character, Gen, Prophetic character, Saanja is back, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6336145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainySpringMorning/pseuds/RainySpringMorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saanja the prophetic Khajiit returns to Brynjolf.</p><p>Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim and all associated characters belong to Bethesda Game Studios. Saanja is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saanja the Clever

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't, I recommend that you read Words of Wisdom first, in which I introduced the first half of the plot featured here, as well as the character Saanja. For a description of Saanja, see the bottom of the page. Thanks for reading!

“C’mon, lass. I’ve got you.” Brynjolf supported Karliah as they staggered out of the cave, sloshing through freezing ankle-deep water. He wrenched his suffocating hood back and squinted out at the blinding bright morning presented in front of him, where nothing but blanketing snow and Bronze Lake shimmered brilliantly, as though it had swallowed the stars of the night. Karliah clung to his side, trailing water and blood, shaking as her body defiantly grew colder and colder.

“We h-have t-to go b-back,” she said through chattering teeth, drawing her sodden cloak around her and wincing as it pulled the stab wound pulsing blood from her middle. Brynjolf took her hand and pressed it firmly over her stomach in an effort to stop the bleeding; they needed shelter and warmth, and for Karliah to be tended to. There was no way they could go back into the cave, not wounded and drenched as they were, and the longer they were exposed to the frigid air in their wet leathers, the more of a chance they’d freeze into popsicles. Karliah stood fast as Brynjolf tried to ease her away from the cave, her spine rigid with fear. “W-we can’t l-leave him!”

“We have to,” Brynjolf reasoned quietly. “I saw him go under. I… Karliah, you have to accept the fact that he drowned.”

“No!” she exclaimed, violet eyes burning with refusal. “There’s still a chance! What if we leave and he’s alive? What if he’s right there…” her mouth wobbled and she hung her head, squeezing her fist with a squelching sound. Brynjolf patted her shoulder lightly, feeling the hollow sensation of loss.

“Lass, I know he meant something to you. He was like him, aye? A natural leader.”

“And more,” she added softly with a longing look behind her. She heaved a deep sigh and winced, looking at the crimson flow over her fingers. “Ooh, it hurts.”

“Of course it does,” Brynjolf said, bending to hoist her into his arms. He trembled with the weight, added to his own fatigued body. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, aye?”

=^.^=

Nightgate Inn was a welcome sanctuary, and despite the few tenants, the barkeep was fully willing to pass up on payment the moment he saw Karliah bleeding out over his recently swept floors. Now, stripped of her armour and wrapped in several warm blankets, Karliah dozed peacefully while a kindly healer stooped over her, doing his best to knit the wound closed and vanquish any impurities in the process.

Brynjolf stood at the threshold of the room, rubbing the ends of his hair dry with a cloth, garbed in a spare set of ordinary clothes. The shirt was a little too small, so he’s left the laces undone, and there were already a few torn stitches in the sleeves and under the arms, but it wasn’t his shirt, so there was no need to complain. His only complaint was the cheap taste of the ale, reserved for lesser customers like himself, while the wine was preserved for more suitable customers, such as the orc currently down by the wee pond, taking in the sights.

The ale was warm, though, so that was all that mattered. Brynjolf took a last, healthy swig of it and turned to broach the barkeep for another bottle. A patron sat at the counter, wearing a heavy wolf skin cloak and lightweight armour made of some bluish crystalline rock. The twitching tail and ears poking up from holes in the hood revealed that they were Khajiit. Brynjolf leaned in, about to inquire about the strange armour, when he realized that one of the Khajiit’s ears were pierced with nine gold hoops. It stirred a memory and he took a step back as the Khajiit turned to look up at him, lips drawn back and nose scrunched in a very familiar and very strange smile.

“Ah, stinky thief,” she purred, turning on the bar stool and bouncing to her feet. “Saanja remembers this one. Stupid Nord did not heed clever Saanja’s warning, no?”

Brynjolf blinked. What was the crazy cat on about?

“ _The Magic Man is dead, just as Saanja said_ ,” she sang, tail twitching. “ _The Bird Daemon ate stupid thief’s soul, now he is no longer whole!_ ”

“You…” Brynjolf spluttered, raising a trembling hand. “You knew what was going to happen?”

“Stupid thief pretends to be surprised. Pfft!” she snorted and tossed the barkeep a purse of coin. “Saanja told stupid sandwich-eating thief of future. No listen, does he! Saanja not sorry,” she added bitterly. “This one deserves all problems.”

“Saanja-”

“Saanja this! Saanja that!” she drew her lips back, this time in a fearsome snarl. “Go away, stupid thief. Saanja has no words for you. Feel your regrets! Suffer your losses! Saanja tried to help but instead, Saanja was shunned. Now thief wants help, but Saanja is in _no_ mood to help.”

With a whirl of her cloak and an indignant twitch of her long tail, Saanja strode to the door of the inn. She glanced back, blue eyes flicking with annoyance, and stepped out into the cold snowy globe of the world from whence she’d come. Brynjolf followed, determined to speak with her, perhaps even to apologize, and flung the door open.

Ten minutes later, he stumbled back into the inn, red-faced and breathing hard. Saanja had vanished completely, leaving no trace of the direction she’d disappeared. He wondered if she had been an illusion. Stroking his hair out of his face, he returned to overseeing Karliah. The healer was packing his bag, a queer look on his lean, young face.

“Will she be alright?” Brynjolf queried a few minutes later.

“Yes, in time,” the healer answered softly, drinking from his water skin. “But I’m afraid I have some… well, it is tragic news to share.”

What could be more tragic than losing their friend and Brynjolf’s foolishness in not heeding Saanja’s warning from all those months ago? He leaned forward, prepared to shoulder whatever awful news the healer had left to tell. Sighing deeply, the healer dropped his voice to a whisper and confided, with great sorrow, “I’m afraid the babe was lost. Her injuries were far too serious and placed a great amount of stress on the fetus.”

For the second time that day, Brynjolf was speechless with shock and blinked, the alarm on his face quite plain. The healer took his hand, mistaking his silence for grief. “Forgive me. I hate to be the bearer of such horrible news. Your child will be-”

“No, no-no,” Brynjolf said, sitting upright. “No, you’re mistaken. The child wasn’t mine. I wasn’t even aware that Kar-… that _my friend_ was with child.”

The healer flushed quite suddenly, threading his fingers through his short tufty hair. “Oh, I see. Forgive me for presuming…” he cleared his throat and smiled, a soft fluttering thing. Brynjolf mirrored it, and the tension dropped.

“So you and her are just friends, then?” the healer asked in a trembling voice.

“Aye. Confidants. We work together.” Brynjolf smiled as a thought struck him. “We only met recently. A few months ago.”

“Oh.” The healer swallowed, the tension back in the air, but it wasn’t ebbing from Brynjolf. He stiffened suddenly, realizing what the matter was at hand, and relaxed his shoulders. He flashed the healer a smooth, lopsided grin and suppressed a chuckle as the healer went redder than the apples in the basket on the counter.

Ah, poor lad.

“Maybe next time, lad,” Brynjolf eased some affection into his voice. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for her. Safe journeys.”

“And you.” The healer straightened and paid the barkeep for a few loaves of bread and some apples, stashed them in a second bag, likely his own belongings. Peeking into Karliah’s room for a moment, he drew his hood up and approached the door, nodding farewell and disappearing into the light snowfall. It was a long walk in either direction to the nearest city, and Brynjolf felt a faint twinge of concern for the young lad. Bandits were notorious in the northern holds, where travelling was harsher and occupied forts were secluded, easy to take over and turn into a stronghold.

Brynjolf returned to Karliah’s room and occupied the chair at the foot of the bed. Leaning his head back on the wall, he listened to the soft breathing coming from the blankets and his own heartbeat, steady and strong in his ears. Before long, his exhaustion caught up with him and he was asleep.

=^.^=

Saanja lifted her chin as she walked past the guards posted on either side of the grand city gates, ignoring their fuming glares as she, a Khajiit, entered the city of Windhelm. She knew the penalty was no more than a few gold, which could be easy spared, and she made straight for the open-air market, where she exchanged the goods she’d found for some leather strips to fix her bracers.

“What are you doing in the city, Khajiit?” Saanja turned around and looked up at the guard, standing with his hands on his hips in an effort to look authoritative. Saanja snorted.

“Saanja is not causing any trouble,” she said. “Move along, stinky guard.”

“The palace jail will benefit from a Khajiit,” the guard threatened. “A cat to hunt the rats.”

Saanja bristled furiously, her whiskers pointing straight out. “Cat?” she yowled indignantly. “Saanja is respectable, honourable Khajiit! Guard is stupid Nord like thief!” Flattening her ears, she finished her purchase; barely keeping from scratching the Altmer merchant’s palm as she took her change, she dashed away from the guard and loped away to the Gray Quarter, slipping down the winding passages and dark alleys, trying to clear her buzzing head. Such stupid guards! Ignorant stinky guards!

Supressing the urge to curl into a ball and mewl pitifully, as she might have done if she were a pathetic cub, Saanja smoothed her whiskers and went to the New Gnisis Cornerclub, where she found decent patronage and cream that hadn’t spoiled. She decided to treat herself and took an extra ladle of honey, mixing it with a claw as she waited for her lightly-seared slaughterfish to come off the grill.

Swiping her tongue around her lips and plucking a bit of ridged scale from her teeth, Saanja paid for her meal and swung back out into the Gray Quarter, cheered by the good food. She contemplated, as she wandered through the streets, if she should take a visit back out to Solstheim. She missed Inky and Poon, two friends she’d left on the docks when the Sight urged her to return to the mainland. Besides, what was there here, other than stinky guards and stupid thieves with fluff in their ears?

Spotting a coin, Saanja pounced on it with a purr and held it up. “If Saanja gets heads, then she goes to island.” She said aloud, tossing it and smacking it flat on the back of her hand. “She thinks heads!”

Peeking under her palm, Saanja smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Saanja is a prophetic Khajiit who is slightly stubborn and aloof. She likes Feng Shui and Zen surroundings, and practices yoga. Her favourite meal is fish, and cream mixed with lots of honey. In her opinion, Nords are smelly and stupid, and she doesn't like the rain or cold. She enjoys chasing butterflies, fishing and star-gazing. In terms of appearance, she is dark brown with light markings, has one ear pierced with nine gold hoops, and has big blue eyes.


End file.
